What Jack Wants
by AkuKorax
Summary: Jacks always gets what he wants . . . well, mostly. (slash JW)
1. What Jack Wants

Title: What Jack Wants  
  
Author: Korax   
  
Email: akukorax@sbcglobal.net  
  
Pairing: pre-slash Jack/Will  
  
Rating: PG for now  
  
Summary: Jack always gets what he wants. . . well mostly.  
  
Disclaimer: Damn the Mouse, he owns everything, and I own a piece of string and a futon.  
  
Feedback: PLEASE!!! PLEASE!! It would be very welcome.  
  
Notes: It is to be a long fic. It's in the works, but I'm working on the chapters as fast as I can. Very defiantly slash, though there will be some Het in the early chapters. Be prepared for OOCness and happy plot devices. Special thanks to Doll, my amazing beta! ^_^ Enjoy!  
  
Jack was accustomed to getting what he wanted.   
  
  
  
After all, the life of a pirate often involved going in and taking what he wanted, and damn the man who tried to stop him. Jack had gotten used to a life where he got what he wanted, usually when he wanted it, even if it involved killing the man who had it before him. When Jack wanted treasure, he went and found some. The same went for rum, and usually the women too, though his luck in that department had been getting steadily worse as of late. Leave it to women to get all uppity about making a few rounds now and then.  
  
Jack was also quite protective of his things as well, like his hat. He *liked* his hat. It was a good hat, it fit his head right, and other hats just didn't feel right after you had gotten that *one* hat that fit you in all the right ways. Plus, he'd had his hat for a very long time, even after several people had tried to take it away, he always managed to get it back, so he wasn't about to let it get away from him in a hurry.  
  
It was the same with his ship. *The Black Pearl* was *his*. This was an undeniable fact of life. No matter what happened out at sea, what crew was aboard, or whatever happened to Jack himself, the *Pearl* would only really listen to Captain Jack Sparrow, and only Captain Jack Sparrow would know how to listen to her in return. And the *Pearl* had whispered many secrets to him indeed. The *Pearl* was always first for him, and as long as it stayed that way, his ship never minded what his mind was up to. They were bonded more closely then anything else Jack had ever owned, and that was pretty close if you'd put into perspective exactly how many times Jack had gone back to find his hat.  
  
He was also quite attached to his pistol and coat, as well as his other effects, though not quite in the same ways. His coat had gotten quite ratty with wear, but it still fared him well in a storm, and the pistol had been quite important to him for reasons of revenge. But the point was, they were all still *his* and therefore he liked to keep them close. Very close. . .  
  
He'd had his ship, his dark wonderful mistress, taken away from him once, and that hadn't made him too pleased with the situation. Then the amount of time and effort that it had taken him to get it back had only worked to darken his already foul mood for about ten years, but like everything else he had claimed as his, he managed to get it back into its proper place, with *him*. So everything was all right again, just as he liked it.  
  
Except that it wasn't. He felt uneasy like he hadn't ever before. He couldn't quite explain it. By all accounts he should be skipping with joy. He had his life, freedom, his ship, and he even still had his hat and other effects, yet for the last two months since Port Royal, he felt as if he had forgotten something behind, like he was still missing one of his things. It was driving him completely insane, and he wasn't too sure how sane he was to begin with.  
  
Jack sighed, a light breeze picking up the noise and carrying it to parts unknown as his *Pearl* sailed on into the dusk. He stared unseeingly off on to the horizon as he leaned on the wheel, every so often looking to his compass and back, sometimes making a slight alteration in the course by shifting the wheel a fraction or two. He felt the wind whip his hair around his head and he allowed his body to sway silently with the ocean's rocking motion as he thought. He saw the crew working around him, paying no attention to the silent captain, as it was not their duty to question anything he did in the first place. Only the first mate AnaMaria would spare him a few glances every so often to make sure that he was still at his post.  
  
Jack allowed himself to fall deeper into his thoughts, with not a care for the world around him, his body having learned how to become one with his *Pearl* long before.  
  
There was still something that he hadn't managed to get, something that he wanted more then treasure, or his coat, and maybe even his hat, but that might be stretching it a bit far. He knew he wanted, he could feel the desire rise in him like the tide, he could feel his hands clench every time he thought about him. . . *him*!  
  
Young Will Turner, the only son of his dear friend and mentor William Turner, or ol' Bootstrap Bill as he loathed to be called. Will Turner, whom Jack had met in a dusty hot Smithy, who had nearly bested him with the sword, and who had leached himself into every thought and waking moment that Jack had. Will, who fought with a strength and courage that Jack had never witnessed before, whose face would turn red with indignation whenever Jack would let the teasing go to far, who would not believe Jack when he saw the pirate blood grinning at him from behind a mask of denial, who sent him small calculating looks whenever Jack pretended that he wasn't looking, and who was the doer of incredibly *stupid* things. Strong, brave, heroic, beautiful Will . . .  
  
. . . Whose heart completely belonged to one Elizabeth Swann. A rich, beautiful, quite strong, and incredibly clever (and that was something coming from Captain Jack Sparrow) Miss Swann who had class and power and knew how to use it. Young Will was completely infatuated with the girl, and why wouldn't he be? She was a dream come true, even if she had burned all the rum, which was not something that Jack was ever going to forgive, mind you. Never trust a girl who can hold her drink well, Jack would say (at least he said he would say later on that day as he watched AnaMaria drink most of the crew under the table) you never know what a girl like that could be up to.  
  
Will Turner belonged to Elizabeth Swann, soon to be Elizabeth Turner, he supposed. The thought made something hot, angry, and hurtful boil up in his mind and he clutched the compass a little tighter to gain control of himself. He knew that he wanted Will for himself, only to himself, because he never shared what was his with anyone, and it enraged him to think that there was something that he wanted that was so far from his reach. He'd never had a problem with stealing what he wanted away from someone else, but in this case it would be a sight more tricky to take Will from Elizabeth, since he had no idea how to go about competing with what it was about Elizabeth's charm that chained Will to her like the lovesick pup that he was. He also knew that Elizabeth would never let him take Will from her without a hard fight. It was a delicate situation to be sure, but such things often were.  
  
Jack rested his head on one of the numerous pegs of the wheel. A creak of wood and a splash of water and he knew that his *Pearl* was trying to soothe his busy mind. He stroked the wheel and smiled kindly, grateful that she understood. Maybe she'd even grow to love his Will too. His Will. He smirked, liking the sound it as it rolled around his mind.   
  
"Shush Darlin', 't won't be long now. Not if Captain Jack Sparrow has a say in it, luv, don fret." He smiled as another creak and flap of sail meant she agreed with him.  
  
Jack knew he wanted Will. And Jack always got what he wanted. 


	2. Noble Pirates

Title: What Jack Wants   
  
Chapter 2 : Noble Pirates  
  
Author: Korax   
  
Email: akukorax@sbcglobal.net  
  
Pairing: Jack/Will, mild Will/Elizabeth  
  
Rating: PG for now  
  
Summary: Jack always gets what he wants. . . well mostly.  
  
Disclaimer: Damn the Mouse, he owns everything, and I own a piece of string and a futon.  
  
Feedback: Yes please!  
  
Notes: Here is the beautiful second chapter that took me over a week because I kept stopping and screaming, "Oh God, I suck!" But here it is in all its glory. The third chapter will have more action, just trying to cover back-story!  
  
It was a good day for tea. The sun was shining high in the sky in the early afternoon, interrupted only by the occasional passing cloud. A soft breeze came in from the ocean, giving the hint of salt and spice. The ocean itself seemed to stretch into the horizon as if it went on forever. It was really a beautiful day, will thought, a perfect day, in fact.  
  
Will Turner, excellent blacksmith and fiancée to Miss Elizabeth Swann, was utterly bored.  
  
He'd been called to the manor earlier that day by a messenger who had told him that "Miss Swann requests your attendance for High Tea this afternoon at one o'clock," then promptly left the Smithy without a second glance. He'd actually been excited by the chance to see Elizabeth, the back orders having kept him extremely busy as of late, but when he arrived wearing his best attire he'd been sorely disappointed by the results.  
  
So there he sat, in between Commodore Norrington and Elizabeth, dutifully sipping his tea and pretending to pay attention to what Governor Swann's guest were talking about. 'At least', he thought, 'Elizabeth is happy.' She had been very pleased when he had arrived; awarding him with a glowing smile, then, as all women of his acquaintance did, brushing him down as if he had just rolled in the dust. He supposed it came with working in a forge all day; he was doomed to be permanently sooty for the rest of his life. But Elizabeth really hadn't minded, she had just smiled again and brought him to the table where the good Commodore had glared daggers at him.  
  
Elizabeth herself was currently involved in a conversation with a wealthy young merchant friend of her father's. Will wasn't quite sure what he thought of this, since the lad, only a few years senior to Will himself, had been desperately trying to impress Elizabeth throughout the whole afternoon. He had claimed, earlier, while Will was examining what he thought was possibly a sandwich with cucumbers in it, to have fought off three armed and dangerous pirates bare handed during his last voyage to Port Royal. Will had choked on the sandwich, and he felt Norrington, who had also been half listening to the conversation Elizabeth had been having, stiffen slightly in his seat. Elizabeth had just smiled indulgently and asked if the newest load of cotton that had just come in was still safe. 'She was amazing in that way, Will thought, able to easily steer a conversation from pirates to merchandise without the other person even realizing the subject had been changed.'  
  
Pirates . . . Good Lord, had it really been two and a half months since that whole adventure? It hardly seemed real anymore, like an intricate and exciting dream that, when you wake, fades into a memory and real life reasserts itself. It all seemed so distant now, like it had never happened.  
  
Except that it had. And it seemed that he was going to spend the rest of his life paying the price of that event.  
  
When everything had finally died down from notorious Captain Jack Sparrow's escape from the gallows (assisted, as it were, by Will), people had started to see Will Turner a little differently than they had before. That is to say, they now finally saw him period, but not in the kind light that Will would have preferred. Before everything with the Black Pearl had happened Will had always been just Mr. Brown's, the Blacksmith's, young apprentice, as he'd been since he first set foot on Port Royal's docks. Governor Swann had been most adamant about getting young Will a home, or at the very least a bed. Mr. Brown hadn't needed much convincing once he'd seen the gold, and Will had stayed at the smithy since.  
  
"Poor boy," he'd over heard an old lady telling her daughter once in the market, "No family ta speak of, no land nor capital, just spends all day working in tha shop, or prancing about waving a sword for hours at a time. 'Tain't right! Honestly, what's that lad up to I thinks to meself. And," she added in a stage whisper, having noticed that Will was paying attention, "people 'round 'ere says he's got his sights set on Miss Elizabeth, the Governor's daughter of all people! Well, if tha's not wishful thinkin', I tell you. He should just find himself a nice girl and settle down!"  
  
It had annoyed him at the time. He'd thought that people should mind their own business about him and leave him to his work. He had desperately wanted to prove his worth to them, to make them all stop seeing him as the little boy that had been dragged from a burning wreckage and see him as. . . as . . . as something else, something strong and powerful. He had known even than that he was more then what they thought, and he had wanted the whole town to see it too. And he'd gotten his wish, in a way. The town now saw him and something very strong. So strong, in fact, that what they saw was a threat more then anything else.  
  
He'd give anything to make the town see him as 'delusional young Will Turner' again, but since his return from Isla de Muerta Port Royal now considered him a wanted criminal, regardless of Commodore Norrington's views on the matter, which also weren't very nice. People on the streets wouldn't meet his eyes any more, nor would they greet him if not absolutely necessary. And even then the greetings were short, cold, and forced. The smithy wasn't being hurt per se, orders were still coming in the same manner as they always had, but there had been some "conversations" and "advice" given to Mr. Brown concerning his choice of apprentice. To the town, he was a pirate, one that wasn't doing anything at the moment, but still a pirate, so he was feared and hated for it.  
  
It was only his great love for Elizabeth that kept him from throwing up his hands and giving up on Port Royal all together, but even so, it was starting become too much for him to take. The only people left who'd talk to him were Mr. Brown, who relied a great deal on Will's work in the smithy even though the town was still blind to it, Elizabeth, and her father.   
  
At least Norrington still met him in the eye, though that was more of a challenge in that respect. Hell, he'd take Barbossa and undead pirates any day to the silence that had met him in the local tavern when he'd stopped by for a meal and a drink last night. Mr. Thatcher had refused to serve him, and though his elderly mother, Widow Thatcher, had pulled him aside and given him a small bottle of gin and a loaf of bread for the trouble her son had caused him, it was only a small condolence that no one had tried to attack him that night. It was times like that he missed Jack.  
  
Jack Sparrow. There was a name that he'd thought of quite often as of late. He'd found himself missing the oddball pirate more and more as time went on, and things got worse. Thinking of his smiles, laugh, the way he swaggered through life with the surety that everything would right it's self eventually, given that the opportune moment presented itself when it was needed.   
  
He'd miss Jack most when his new reality had, again, managed to depress him. He would think of Jack to amuse himself. Jack, in all probability, would find Will's situation laughable at best, and probably tell Will to get a good strong drink to drown his worries in. Jack would probably figure out a way to clear up the whole mess if he wanted too, woo the town to his whims like he did everything else. Will often wished he could see Jack again, if only for a little while. He'd often found himself wishing that he'd jumped after Captain Jack on the ledge that day and escaped this life he now lived.   
  
He'd had two directions in his life to choose from, and he'd chosen Elizabeth. He'd never regret that choice, ever, for Elizabeth was everything he'd ever dreamed for and more. But considering what the town now thought of him, running off to be a pirate was very tempting.  
  
'Jack would probably understand me,' he thought sipping his lukewarm tea. Elizabeth was in a three way conversation with the young merchant and her father, 'Jack would probably even try to make me feel better about the whole situation. Though all things considered, it'd involve some form of rum.' He sighed mentally, 'Who'd have thought that tea with Elizabeth would be so dull, she could at least talk to me.'  
  
Will let his gaze drift out over the balcony where they sat and to the waves down below the cliffs. He'd been watching the waves quite a lot as of late as well, staring for hours, waiting, not really looking, but alert nonetheless. The sea and Jack, thinking of one always lead to the other. Jack was very much like the sea, he'd decided a while ago. Always moving, exotic, tricky, and alluring in strange unfathomable way. Will often wondered if Jack himself had popped out of the sea one day, ship and all, and just started pillaging for the fun of it.   
  
Out of the corner of his eye he noticed Elizabeth glance at him then follow his gaze to the ocean, with a knowing glimmer in her eye. The first few times he'd done this she'd been upset, annoyed that he was ignoring her. But the third time she had stayed quite, watching the waves with him, a considering look on her face. There was something else in her gaze though; something that Will knew was different from his. There was an understanding there, as well as a longing, and not for the first time Will wondered how their adventure with Captain Jack Sparrow had affected her as well as himself.   
  
Elizabeth turned to him again, standing up. "Will darling, would you care for a walk on the beach? After all, it's a lovely day, wouldn't want to waste it by sitting here all day." She smiled as she said this, her eyes lighting up with happiness, but also something else that he didn't quite recognize. Will was speechless for only a moment, but then smiled back and nodded.  
  
"Yes, I'd like that very much," he said, standing up as well and taking Elizabeth's arm in his. As he turned he failed to notice dark eyes glaring hatred at him as he left with Elizabeth through the balcony doors.  
  
~~~~~  
  
She considered the form of Jack Sparrow as he silently watched his crew celebrate the new booty they had gained off a merchant ship. It had been an easy battle, hardly an effort to take what they had wanted from the vessel, but the crew still looked for anything to celebrate over. It had helped that the Pearl's reputation was still very large around ports these days.  
  
But something wasn't right.  
  
'Something is up with the captain,' Anamaria thought as she looked up at him from the stairway, 'he's not right today. Well, more not right then normal anyway.' She walked up the stairs and stood next to him, a polite distance away (that being just out of arms reach, never be too sure). "Anything wrong, captain?" she said eyeing him as he stared into his compass, shifting it this way and that.  
  
Jack Sparrow looked up at her with an unreadable expression. He blinked once, then shook himself, and seemed to return to reality. "Ready sail and weigh anchor, we're heading back to Port Royal," he commanded and took his place at the helm.  
  
If Anamaria found this strange, she chose to make no comment as she bellowed orders to the crew. 


	3. Far Out of Reach

Title: What Jack Wants  
  
Chapter: 3: Far Out of Reach  
  
Author: Korax   
  
blog: http://maboroshi_korax.livejournal.com/  
  
Rating: PG for now  
  
Pairing: Jack/Will, mild Will/Elizabeth   
  
Summary: Jack always gets what he wants. . . well mostly.  
  
Disclaimer: Damn the Mouse, he owns everything, and I own a piece of string and a futon.  
  
Archive: Sure, if you want. Just tell me first. Permission given previously still holds, you need not ask if I've already said yes.  
  
AN: Sooooo very sorry this took so long. I seriously have little to no time anymore. But I will not give up on this fic, ever! Thanks go to Doll, who is a small grammatical goddess, and to Kit and Chris who kept me going.  
  
Sweat clung to his body as he brought the hammer down on the white-hot metal. The sword he was working on wasn't terribly complicated, just a regular uniform sword that the navy used, but he put all his effort into it. He didn't want to think that he was running from himself, his own thoughts, but Will was never very good at lying, especially to himself.   
  
It had been a week since the high tea with Elizabeth. It hadn't gone badly really; actually it had gone rather smoothly, but he couldn't quite shake the feeling that he had failed at something that day. He had gone to the beach with Elizabeth, and they had walked to the cliffs and back, exchanging small talk and such, but never really talking. It was never really talking with Elizabeth, ever.  
  
It was not through lack of trying. It seemed, more, that they'd never gotten into the practice of it. Before the whole situation with Captain Barbossa, Will had never been given the proper opportunity to talk to Elizabeth at the manor outside of a social visit, and Governor Swann would never allow Elizabeth to visit such a place as the blacksmith's shop. So both had dealt with a "love from afar" as it were. But they were together now, and every day it became more and more clear to Will that aside from the beautiful and strong woman that he always had seen in her, Will had no idea who Elizabeth Swann was.  
  
Will sighed and hit the metal one final time, then thrust the metal in a bucket of water to cool. He stretched his back and moved to the window to let a breeze to cool his heated body.   
  
He'd once thought that he understood everything there was about himself. He had fallen in love with Elizabeth when he had been picked up by the Dauntless. She had been the one who had stayed with him the entire way to Port Royal and who had cared for his injuries. He'd felt eternally grateful for what she had done, and had sworn to himself that he would protect her from whatever might threaten her. He had known for eight years that he was in love with Elizabeth, and also, that he would probably never have her because he was just a blacksmith's apprentice. And that was it.  
  
'It seems I was wrong,' Will thought as a cool breeze drifted over his skin, 'but how was I wrong? Elizabeth cares for me, I know. We are engaged! But why does it feel like I'm making the biggest mistake of my life getting married to her?' Will sighed heavily and rubbed his face with his hand tiredly. He had said the same thing to himself every night for the last week, and he had yet to find an answer. He had no doubts that he loved Elizabeth and that she loved him in return, but it felt like he was hurting her some how.  
  
There was a clank and the door of the smithy opened to let in Mr. Brown. Will stood straighter and turned to him. There was something odd in the way Mr. Brown walked, Will decided. It wasn't the way he usually walked when he came home from the taverns. Latching the door behind him, Mr. Brown walked down the ramp and looked around, his eyes finally finding Will leaning on the window frame. "Ah, lad," Mr. Brown said, turning fully towards him, "y'er done already are ye?"  
  
With a jolt, Will realized that he was seeing something that he had not seen since he was a young boy barely able to lift a hammer. Mr. Brown was sober.  
  
Will's brows creased in concern, but he nodded anyway. "Yes sir, I just finished. The sword is cooling and should be ready to pick up by the morning." Will gestured over to the bucket of water where the sword had been placed. Mr. Brown nodded and walked to it and took the sword out to inspect it. Will tensed as Mr. Brown's eyes and hands swept over the blade. He silently berated himself. 'Honestly Turner, you are no longer fourteen. The blade is fine, but . . .' he gazed at Mr. Brown who was testing the balance, 'Mr. Brown hasn't come home without smelling of spirits since the late Mrs. Brown was taken by the fever six years ago. Something going to happen,' he thought with a sense of dread.  
  
Mr. Brown huffed and set the blade back in the water. He turned and gave Will a disapproving look which made the boy stand straight before he knew he realized what he was doing.  
  
" I's a good sword, lad, but no' up t' yer usual standards. What's gottn' int' ye lately?" Mr. Brown said with his arms crossed, giving Will a steady stare.  
  
"I. . . I'm not sure what you mean, sir," Will said after a beat.  
  
"What I means is, ye' re not working as 'ard as ye used t'," He he said with a note of irritation as he waved away the protest forming on Will's face. "Yes, ye be working 'ard as ever, bu' what I means 's . . ." He paused and looked around at the scores of swords that were held here and there about the shop. "What 'm trying t' say is tha' ye used t' make art, Will. Now all ye merely makes is simple blades."  
  
Will stared at Mr. Brown in confusion. Then he too looked around the smithy at the many swords he had made when there wasn't anything else to do for the smithy.   
  
"Yer swords were perfect, Will. Even I wasn't too drunk not t' realize tha'. Which was probably why I took most o' the credit fer 'em. Tha' . . . must 'ave been 'ard-- I apol'gize." He paused again, this time walking up to a sabre that was hanging from a rack above the giant wheel that took up most of the smithy's interior. "I realize I 'aven't been the best master t' ye lad, but it seems tha' ye learned t' create beauty without me. I'm proud."  
  
Will stood, mute. He honestly didn't know what to say. Mr. Brown had never acted like this, ever. He'd been a demanding master when Will had first apprenticed himself to him, and when his wife died, he'd been a lousy drunk in the corner, leaving Will to fend for himself with only the basic knowledge of what to do to guide him. Will wondered if this was how the blacksmith had acted before Will had come to Port Royal, the hard working man whom he'd heard stories of but never had truly believed existed. Will felt his eyes pulled to a small rack in the back of the smithy; it had a half a dozen swords on it and an axe. He'd been told the day he got there that these where Mr. Brown's favorite pieces that he had done in his youth, the axe itself having gained him his mastership. They had grown dull with neglect, but Mr. Brown, even drunk, had not ever let him touch them. As if he were protecting the memory of them somehow.  
  
Mr. Brown followed Will's gaze and his eyes grew soft. There was a silence in the forge that lasted for a few moments. Mr. Brown finally turned from Will and the rack and spoke to the opposite wall. "I put me recommendation t' the guild a while ago, lad, an' Commodore Norrington presented 'is sword ye made o' while back t' a representative fer inspection. They've decided t' give ye yer mastership."  
  
Wide brown eyes regarded the elder blacksmith's back. 'My. . . me. . . a master? This . . . this cannot be real. This is a strange dream for sure, one that I will wake up from very soon,' he though frantically. 'This is just is not happening.'  
  
But Mr. Brown wasn't finished. "I've also sold the forge. There is nothing keeping ye here anymore, Will Turner. Leave! Marry Elizabeth or sail t'a new town and make yer life anew."  
  
"What?" Will blurted out after a stunned moment. "W. . . But why? When?" He walked swiftly around to face Mr. Brown. "Why? I get no say in this at all? I. . ."  
  
"No you don'!" Mr. Brown shouted and looked suddenly angry, yet it seemed to be not directed at Will himself, but at the world around them. "Will, you can't stay 'ere. I can't be the man I used t' be and run this forge without ye, and people 're talking boy, an' I can't stand ter listen t' it anymore." He was breathing heavily. "Ye 've 'eard them; 'pirate' they say, 'can't be trusted.' 'Cheater, thief, an' scoundrel!' They won't accept me business anymore, Will."  
  
"But I am not those things! I am not a pirate!" Will shouted, watching his life slip away through his fingers. "You know I am not! I have worked here under you half my life, this is my home!" He drew a long breath and continued softly, "Where will I go?"  
  
/Pirate is in your blood, boy, so you'll have to square with that some day. . ./ 'Shut up you. This is entirely your fault!' he thought furiously.  
  
Will was breathing heavily, staring pleadingly at Mr. Brown, who seemed to deflate into the drunken slump that he'd had for the past years. "Aye, I knows ye aren't, Will. Ye 're a good lad, an' loyal too. And if I'd 'ad any sense I should 'ave given ye yer mastership and the forge a long while before now. But as it 's . . . Will, you can't stay 'ere anymore. I can stand the talk no longer, an' this place is not for you no more," he said, glancing at the cooled blade still in the bucket. "Leave Will, lad, clean out yer room, take yer pick o' yer blades," he said, gesturing to the swords that decorated the room, "and jus' go. Go anywhere, anywhere ya like, go t' yer Miss Swann and live. Or find a place where the eyes and mouths o' this god's damned port willn't haunt yer steps. There is nothing t' tie ye here no more. Ye 're a master now, Will Turner, and I gave ye all I could a long time ago. Ye deserve better then this run down shack."   
  
Mr. Brown's eyes were bright as they regarded Will, who had slumped against the anvil during Mr. Brown's speech. He blinked slowly. It still seemed too unreal; everything was happening too quickly. He knew this would have happen eventually, but he had never thought of what he would do when it actually did. He looked up into the tired face of his former master.  
  
"What is to become of you then?" he asked slowly.  
  
"The forge 'as been sold to the representative from the guild, and a replacement will be sen' within the week. I am t' return t' England an' live with my sister and 'er children," he said distractedly moving to a far back door to the smithy, which led to a stairway to the rooms above the shop. On the way, his foot tapped an empty bottle of ale. Mr. Brown stilled a minute before reaching down and picking it up. He stared at it for a long time, turning he glass around in his hand, before he threw it, hard, at the wall. He turned back to Will, an almost desperate glint in his eyes. "Best hurry up lad, we've t' clean and clear this forge o' us tomorrow. Get some sleep, 't will be a hard, long day," he commanded, sounding, for a moment, like the man Will had first met on the docks eight years ago. And with that, he stormed up to his room.  
  
Will stared at the shards of glass before purposefully turning himself away and dragging himself up the stairs as well.  
  
~~~~~  
  
'Blast. . .' Jack thought miserably. 'What /is/ it with women and burnin' me rum?'   
  
Jack was standing on the side of Black Pearl, leaning heavily on the rail as he watched two of his rowboats burn, a barrel of rum in each. It was a thoroughly depressing sight, but it had to be done. The Pearl creaked sympathetically in response to his sighs.  
  
He turned to Anamaria, who was sitting on a barrel nearby drinking tankard of water. "Honestly, Anamaria, did it have t' be the rum?" he pleaded, though it would do him no good now. Anamaria smirked and took a large draft of water before replying.   
  
"You're the one who wants to get back to Port Royal, Cap'n. And there ain't enough grog to make a proper signal."  
  
Jack sighed in defeat and looked back to the burning boats. His poor rum. Ana was going to make this up to him. But technically speaking, if the plan went as it should--and unless there were any monkeys or oar-wielding whelps about, it was sure to--it wouldn't be necessary.  
  
As if mirroring his thoughts, Anamaria looked out at the horizon. "Some poor sod's gonna see the smoke soon, I reckon. Merchant ships are by here almost daily these days, this being Port Royal's main trading route an' all." Whether she said this to reassure her Captain or to reassure herself she wasn't quite sure, and it showed clear as day on her face as Jack glanced up at her. He nodded once and continued to stare off into the distance, watching for any glimpse of sail. Anamaria sighed wistfully and took another swig of her water before she set the mug down to watch the horizon with the Captain.   
  
The Pearl swayed with the ocean's current, almost softly as if the boat were anxious to get the plan in motion as well. The crew itself had optioned to not mention their own feelings, but most were becoming restless with the wait, and almost all did not approve of the Captain's plan to return to Port Royal.   
  
Mr. Gibbs fiddled with his flask, bouncing back and forth from watching Jack to glancing to the horizon himself. He'd known this would have happened sooner or later; it had just been a matter of time, really. He cleared his throat as he walked up behind Jack. "So supposing we do manage t' attract a passing merchant inta coming close enough fer us t' commandeer, what be the plan then fer the rest o' us?"  
  
Jack didn't move an inch from his spot as he answered Gibbs, "Anamaria, Squint, Johnson, Cotton, and I will be commandeering our ride to Port Royal, which I'm sure the Captain of our said ride will be happy to oblige us once he and me sword finish negotiations. I want ye, " he said with a slight nod to Gibbs' direction, "t' take the Pearl along t' Tortuga and wait for us there, restock a bit and give the crew some shore leave. I don't plan on bein' long."  
  
Anamaria and Mr. Gibbs exchanged a quick glance, half-intrigued, and half-apprehensive. Gibbs voiced their thought first. "So, ye really think it will work. Do ye think he'll come?"  
  
Jack said nothing and continued to stare off into the horizon. Anamaria leaned back on her perch and gave an almost sympathetic look to Gibbs' expression of suppressed dismay. Though most of the crew had, at least, accepted Jack's wish to return to Port Royal, none of then relished the idea of the Captain landing himself back into a situation that could possibly have very disastrous results, especially after they had gone all the way there to rescue him in the first place.   
  
Jack stood up suddenly and gave a wide grin. He said one single word, one that sounded almost cherished as it fell from his mouth. "Sails."  
  
Gibbs' demeanor changed in an instant. What was a slightly defeated slump of a man was suddenly a strong and seasoned sailor, shouting orders at the top of him lungs and quickly bringing the crew to activity.  
  
Anamaria gave a small smile of relief and jumped down from the railing. A hand grabbed her wrist as she walked and she turned sharply to look at Jack's profile. He was staring determinedly out towards the sails that were appearing in the distance. Without looking at her, he murmured quietly so only she could hear. "I always go back for what's mine."  
  
"You're sure he'll want to come back with you? He has everything he's always wanted now, his future . . . his lady. You sure he'll leave all that for the life of a pirate, blood or no, even if it /is/ you?"  
  
The hand on her arm tightened at the mention of Elizabeth, but Jack didn't even blink. "He doesn't have everything, and he knows it. He'll come. With the right leverage he'll be free of that . . . life. He'll be back where he should be."  
  
Anamaria was silent for only a moment, contemplating the best way to reveal her fears to her captain. Cheating, bloody-minded scoundrel or not, she didn't want him hurt more than was necessary. "Just . . . be sure you have enough strength to use that leverage when the time comes Captain, the Black Pearl will be mightily upset if you come back . . . if it doesn't go well for you."  
  
The hand on her arm released her and she made her way to help the crew make a good show of being distressed. Jack didn't move from where he stood, one hand caressing the rail as he watched the sails approach. 


	4. A Pirate?

Title: What Jack Wants  
  
Chapter: 4: A Pirate?  
  
Author: Korax   
  
blog: http://maboroshi_korax.livejournal.com/  
  
Rating: PG for now, R to NC-17 later  
  
Pairing: Jack/Will, Will/Elizabeth (And lots of it in this part, believe me, you could gag on the het, but hey, it's gotta happen)  
  
Summary: Norrington can't have a moment's peace and everyone just ends up talking for a while. Important things are said.  
  
Disclaimer: Damn the Mouse, he owns everything, and I own a piece of string and a futon.  
  
Archive: Sure, if you want. Just tell me first. Permission given previously still holds, you need not ask if I've already said yes.  
  
AN: I am sooo sorry this took me forever! Sickness and college sucked up most, if not all my time. Special thanks go to superhero_chica and The Mad Fangirl, for support and awesome betaing. More Jack in the next part and finally, the plot kicks up! Believe me, I'll have the fifth part out far sooner then I got the fourth, I promise!  
  
The sun shone brightly at high noon. Waves crashed continuously against the rocks under the battlements. Commodore James Norrington stood looking out over the sea into the far horizon. He'd been there for some time, but it was often his habit to meditate on the balcony overlooking the cliffs. The soldiers mostly left him to it, after all, a happy commanding officer usually meant less people getting yelled at, and thus it was a good thing. The wind rustled the large feather in Norrington's hat and he breathed in the fresh salty air.   
  
It had been a little over two weeks since he'd given up pursuit of the Black Pearl. The Dauntless was by far the stronger of the two ships, but it seemed the Pearl was just too fast for this to mean anything. Every time that Norrington had thought that he'd had Sparrow cornered, a wind would kick up and then suddenly, it seemed, the Pearl was a good two miles off from where it had just been. It was exasperating to say the least.  
  
Norrington heaved a great sigh, mostly of suppressed irritation, and turned to leave, nearly colliding with a very solid body that he was sure hadn't been there a moment ago. Startled, he backed up quickly, apologizing profusely. "I am terribly sorry. I did not see you there. Please excuse me," he said, gaining his composer and taking a quick assessment of the person him front of him, "sir."  
  
"Ah, it is not a problem at all. My fault really, I have a terrible habit of sneaking up on people like that I'm afraid. So sorry to have startled you," the stranger said quickly, smiling shyly.  
  
Norrington stared bemusedly at the stranger. He was a nobleman of high class yet probably not anyone of any considerable power (Governor Swann would have alerted him if anyone of any importance was coming to Port Royal). The man was wearing a burgundy coat and navy blue breeches. His face was quite younger and his dark brown hair was pulled back into the ever-proper low ponytail that Norrington himself had worn in the past. "I beg your pardon Mr. . . ," he left the end hanging as he tried to place the stranger's face. He looked a bit familiar, though no name was presenting itself immediately.   
  
The stranger blinked, frowning a little, then smiled again. "Oh yes. I do apologize. I believe that introductions are in order. I am Walter Jenkins, a guest at Governor Swann's mansion. And I, of course, already know who you are, Commodore Norrington."  
  
"Ah," said Norrington, name and face slamming together in recollection, "you're Governor Swann's merchant friend from London. You were at the high tea a few weeks ago, weren't you?"  
  
"Ah, actually I'm the son. My father, Oscar Jenkins, is a good friend of Governor Swann. My father sent me to the Caribbean to discuss some trade agreements with Port Royal," Jenkins said, beaming. "I'm very glad you remember me from the tea sir. I'm quite honored to be here, as I am new at my father's business. I hope to make him proud, but I must confess I am quite nervous. I'm very thankful for the Governor's hospitality." The young man was very jumpy, thought Norrington. Actually, it seemed that the merchant's son was simply unable to sit still at all, constantly fidgeting and looking about himself, as if he wanted to look at everything around him all at one. Norrington was feeling very old and sluggish just from watching him.  
  
"Well I wish you luck on your venture. I congratulate and hope for your father's further success in his business." Norrington said stepping off the battlements towards the main part of the fort's courtyard.  
  
"I thank you, sir!" Jenkins called trailing after him. Norrington stifled a sigh of annoyance and bit back a very distasteful comment. Truly, he did not want to deal with a companion right now. He /wanted/ to go into his office and have a bit of brandy and perhaps pretend that there were not matters that needed his immediate attention. 'Well, if I'm doomed to have company for the moment, it can't hurt to be polite,' he scolded himself.  
  
"Are you enjoying you stay in Port Royal?" Norrington asked, mentally searching for conversational material. 'Really,' he thought, 'I am wretched at small talk.'  
  
"Oh yes! Governor Swann and his lovely daughter have been most kind. Port Royal should be truly proud to have such a kind and wise man governing it," Jenkins said enthusiastically. Norrington felt his eyebrows crawl into his wig, and he bit the side of his cheek to prevent a smile. Though kind and wise the Governor often was, hearing such a comment come out of this boy was almost comical. There was a pause while Norrington chose to compose himself. "It's hard to imagine that the town was overrun by pirates not too long ago."  
  
Norrington's amusement turned cold in an instant, and he turned away quickly to hide his wince. That attack and the events directly following it were still a very sore spot in his mind. To be made to look the fool by "Captain" Jack Sparrow, not once, but twice, and in front of his men, was something Norrington was never going to forgive.  
  
"Yes, I'm sure it is, though I doubt our people will ever forget." Norrington muttered.  
  
"Miss Swann was kidnapped, I was told. That must have been terrible for her. Thank god she is safe." Jenkins's voice took on a tone of determination. Norrington turned back to him, curious, but Jenkins went on. "You, of course, lead the rescue party that saved her no doubt." His eyes stared unblinkingly at Norrington, and he noticed that the boy had stopped moving and was standing straight, almost rigid, before him.  
  
Norrington chose his words carefully, "Yes. I lead the Dauntless in a search for the Black Pearl and later played a part in and oversaw the capture of its crew."  
  
"I see," Jenkins muttered darkly, a contemplating look crossing his face. He blinked and shook his head, focusing back on Norrington. "Ah, yes. Well done. The pirates are imprisoned in England now, are they not? Awaiting trial."  
  
"Yes. There were quiet a few of them, and several charges on each. We thought it best if we relocated them to England to be tried and sentenced there. Most of our facilities are not finished with repairs." Norrington had quick flash of the pile of paperwork sitting on his desk; repairs for the jails and the gallows and the pressing need to get many new recruits being just a few of the many problems that Sparrow left in his wake. Norrington grit his teeth.  
  
He studied Jenkins again. The boy had gone back to twitching and fidgeting, but his eyes remained on the Commodore. "You seem quite knowledgeable about the event, sir."  
  
Jenkins looked worried. "Ah, yes, well . . . I do try to keep up with the news and history of the places I visit. Especially news concerning pirates in areas my father is interested in. I'm grateful to the Royal Navy for working so hard to keep ships like my father's safe from attacks." He flashed a smile. "Kidnapped by pirates, such a terrible ordeal. Though Miss. Swann seems happy enough." Jenkins looked thoughtful. "A fine lady like her surrounded by scoundrels, it must have been terrible for her. Thank god she was saved," he said, the determined look smoothly shifting back into his expression.   
  
Norrington took a good look at the boy before him. 'A terrible ordeal indeed,' he thought with amusement, 'I sincerely doubt that, terrible and frightening as it was, Miss Swann was all that permanently damaged from her experience aboard the Black Pearl. She's a strong, if rash, young woman. She is not the kind that would tremble in fear, nor faint. It is more likely she would beat a man over the head with a big stick if given the choice and means.' Norrington allowed himself a small smirk. As much as he had accepted her decision to go to Turner, he still felt a strong respect for the woman who was so nearly his wife.  
  
"If I may say so, sir, I believe that you've taken quite a liking to the young Miss Swann," Norrington lightly accused, watching the faint flush cut across the younger man's face.  
  
"She is. . . uh, she is quite a charming girl, yes," he stated slowly, looking anywhere but at the Commodore. "I've heard rumor that you also, at one time, had, um, feelings for Miss Swann. Your sights set on marriage?"  
  
Norrington felt his eye twitch in annoyance. He rarely liked his personal affairs to become public. 'Who is this boy?' He seethed, inwardly, but answered anyway, "That is true. I proposed to her the day the pirates attacked this port." Turning away he strode through the courtyard, past the place where the gallows usually was located -it was under repair and had been moved for the time being. As they neared the actual building of the fort, Jenkins jogged to keep up with his long strides. Norrington idly noticed that he was nearly a head taller then the boy.  
  
"I apologize sir, but I feel that there must be more to this story. If /you/ proposed to her, why is she engaged-," Norrington was surprised, he'd never heard a word uttered with such disdain, and in his line of work he'd heard many a foul word, "to that . . .to," Jenkins stopped as if unsure of the proper word to use.  
  
"To Mr. William Turner? The blacksmith?" Norrington asked, already knowing it to be the answer, but curious nonetheless. He halted a few feet from the main building of the fort, near the carriage exit.  
  
"Yes," Jenkins frowned, "I met him at the tea. Very low class man. Dirty. I cannot understand how an engagement could have come about."  
  
"It was her own choice," Norrington frowned. This conversation was fast approaching territory in which he would rather not dwell.   
  
"Her own . . .? Excuse me Commodore, but are you telling me that she turned down your offer to . . . elope with a /blacksmith/?" The sheer disbelief in his voice proved to Norrington that, though he'd taken a fancy to Miss. Elizabeth, he didn't even have the foggiest idea of whom she really was.  
  
"Yes," Norrington answered stiffly.  
  
"And you just accepted it?"  
  
"Yes, I have no right to do otherwise."  
  
"And her father allows this?"  
  
"Governor Swann as been known to dote on his daughter's whims, and he wouldn't purposely ban her from something he knows makes her happy. So in a word, yes, he allows it."  
  
The atmosphere was enough to sharpen a dagger, if not outright wound.  
  
"He is below her station!" Jenkins was starting to sound desperate.  
  
"Very well spotted," Norrington said sarcastically. He saw that the boy wanted to say something else, "Tell me, Mr. Jenkins, is there a point to this line of questioning?" A surprised look quickly stole over the boy's face.  
  
"Commodore, the man is a pirate!" Jenkins said severely, almost as if he was scolding the Commodore for not seeing it before.  
  
Norrington blinked. "I assure you, Mr. Jenkins," he said evenly, "that Mr. Turner is no more a pirate then I am." He bit the inside of his cheek to keep himself from adding 'but he is in great danger of becoming one.'  
  
Jenkins look at the Commodore in disbelief. "That's not what the townspeople have told me." He seemed to read Norrington's look of shock. "I told you, when I was invited here to Port Royal I took the liberty of looking into the history of the town. When I discovered that this port was so recently attacked by pirates I become suspicious."  
  
Norrington remain silent, glaring openly. There were a variety of warning signals firing off in his brain, as well as some very colorful language that he would dearly love to introduce to the younger man. He'd been around sailors his whole life, and being an officer did not mean that he could not curse a man so well that even the most experienced whore would blush. "Do you doubt the Navy's ability to keep Port Royal safe, sir?" Norrington said, just managing to stifle the anger in his voice.  
  
Jenkins surveyed him evenly, the turned to take a few paces away. "It is my duty to make sure that my father's ships are safe wherever they go. I always investigate trading ports that may or may not be safe for the ships. I sent a few people here a month ago, to learn all they could about the attack." Jenkins turned to Norrington, who looked thunderous. "They told me some very interesting things Commodore."  
  
"Such as?" Norrington inquired, voice strained and harsh.  
  
"It seems that just after the attack, when Miss Swann was in the hands of the pirates of the, ah, Black Pearl I believe it was, Mr. Turner not only broke a known and convicted pirate, Jack Sparrow," he gave a sly smile and Norrington flinched at the name, "out of your jail, but also stole your fastest ship right out from under your nose." He seems to positively glow with pleasure at Norrington's fast failing rein on his anger. "I see I have hit a rather sore spot I suppose, Commodore, I apologize."  
  
'Apologize indeed.' Norrington thought. "That, sir, is none of your concern." Norrington was far beyond caring about the open distain in his voice. It was bad enough to be out matched by /Captain/ Jack Sparrow, but to be lectured on his ability to protect Port Royal was just too much for him to bear calmly. "For someone who has studied so thoroughly what has happened, you should know that Mr. Turner was granted clemency for his actions due to their intent, rash as they were. Mr. Turner freed Captain Sparrow so that the pirate could lead him in his attempt to rescue Miss Swann."  
  
"Ahh, yes, so it would seem. And you believed him then?" Jenkins said and studied the Commodore intently to see his reaction. Norrington, however, had gotten a good hold on himself, and had re-gathered his composure.  
  
"Of course! His actions during the event proved his intent."  
  
"Really?" Jenkins said with mock surprise. "But is it not true that he did, in fact, assist Jack Sparrow in escaping from you a second time? He would have been breaking the law again, would he not? And now," he narrowed his eyes and stood straighter giving the Commodore a dark look, " Mr. Turner is engaged to a lady of high standing in the town. I hope you understand my confusion as to why this man is still able to walk free."  
  
"Mr. Turner is indeed a very rash man. He acts according to his own personal beliefs, rather than considering either the law or, for that matter, the common good. While I disapprove of his actions, and his sudden promotion to a far higher class then he deserves, I still hold that Mr. Turner is not yet a pirate, nor will he ever be a pirate once he marries Miss Elizabeth Swann." 'Flights of fancy aside, the last place she's going to want to be again is on another pirate ship. Even she knows the difference between romantic, dashing rouges from books, and the real, dirty scoundrels that are truly pirates. She has her dashing hero, and hopefully she'll keep him out of trouble.' Something occurred to Norrington just then, "As I recall Mr. Jenkins, Miss Elizabeth herself also assisted in Captain Sparrow's escape from the gallows." Norrington silently rejoiced at the twitch that developed under the boy's left eye.  
  
"Ah . . . so I had heard," Jenkins stated evenly, if slightly unsurely. "She must have had her reasons no doubt." Norrington made a slight scoffing noise, and it was Jenkins' turn to glare. "I have also heard news that you had been gone a month in pursuit of Jack Sparrow before you received orders to return to Port Royal. It seems the navy here isn't as accomplished as one might wish to believe."  
  
The silence stretched tight between then them. Norrington decided that this boy was someone who merited some attention, who definitely needed to be watched for the remainder of his stay. He was sly, and far too good at finding things out. He had a particular look about him, the look of someone who was confident that they had gained the upper hand in at something. He'd often seen the same look on officers competing for promotion, but more often had he seen it on the faces of wanted men right before they either got away or made some horrible mistake and were dragged screaming to the cells. The last person who had worn such an expression in his presence was Jack Sparrow, on the quarterdeck of his ship as the Pearl made another a fast escape from the Dauntless. He'd been quite far off, but Norrington had known that cocky grin was present on his face. Norrington clenched his teeth at the memory. He and Jenkins stared at each other in an unspoken battle of wits, daring the other to break concentration and prove their weakness.  
  
"Sir!" Both men jumped as Murtogg came jogging up behind them. Jenkins sniffed and turned away.  
  
"I see that you are busy, Commodore. I will take my leave of you. Thank you for your time, sir," Jenkins gave a slight bow and left the courtyard, giving Murtogg a disdainful look. Murtogg, for his part, look bewildered. Norrington watch the boy go until he could no longer be seen from the fort's courtyard. He turned quickly. Barely giving Murtogg a glace strode past him toward the main building with a clipped "I'll be in my office" called over his shoulder.  
  
"But sir!" Murtogg called, and then flinched as the door slammed in his face. He stared at the door and then back in the direction in which the young gentleman had left. Murtogg shrugged and returned to his post.  
  
****  
  
"A pirate?" Elizabeth asked, lifting her finger to her lips in concentration. She was perched in one of the highly fashionable, yet incredibly uncomfortable chairs that decorated the sitting room of Swann Manor. Will stood by the fireplace. His two bags of belongings had been stashed when he had arrived in a coat closet for safe keeping while he spoke with the lady of the house.  
  
"That's what he said. I mean," Will stuttered, looking uncomfortable in the highly furnished room, "I know that people have been talking since everything with . . . with the Black Pearl happened." Elizabeth noted that he seemed a bit reluctant to say the name of the ship that had so changed his life. Well, both their lives, really. She smiled sweetly up at him.  
  
Will had arrived around mid-afternoon, unannounced and in common clothes. Elizabeth hadn't minded really, she was always glad to see him and didn't much care how he dressed, but she had been surprised. Will was known to be rash and, as Jack told her in the first few hours of drunkenness on the island, do stupid things, but he never called on her without an invitation, or without telling her a day prior at the very least.  
  
"So that is that? The forge is sold and Mr. Brown is gone?" she asked imploringly.  
  
Will nodded and turned to stare directly into the fireplace. "Yes."   
  
"He never gave any warning? Did he even hint at what he might-"  
  
"No, he did nothing. He told me for the first time last night, and even then he seemed reluctant to actually do it." He paused and sighed, "I feel so guilty. Drunken old man or not, that smithy was his home, his life. If only I had . . . if I had not gone and . . . if only Ja-" he stopped and look uncomfortable.  
  
Elizabeth stared at him in slight wonder. "Jack Sparrow? If only you had not gotten Captain Jack Sparrow involved?" 'Why will he not say the name?' Will flushed and look away nodding. Elizabeth raised an eyebrow.  
  
"You regret it?" she prompted.  
  
Will hesitated, then finally nodded. Elizabeth was skeptical though. 'He cannot regret the /whole/ thing. Better fine tune the questions.'  
  
"Do you regret doing it, or just the results of the event?" she said intently watching for his reaction.  
  
Will blinked. "I . . ." he paused. "I do not regret saving you or Jack," he said heavily, "but honestly, I wonder if there had been another way to do it. If I hadn't needed to get Jack involved at all. And then I wonder if it would have turned out the same, would I still be here, sitting with you, or would you be elsewhere, or worse. The more I think about it, the more I realize that," he looked to the ground, at his dirty shoes slowly scuffing up the Manor's beautiful carpets, "there was no other way. If I hadn't gotten Jack out of jail, I would not have been able to find you." He turned back to face her, a sad look on his face, "So all I can do is suffer the consequences of my choices, though I do not entirely regret them."  
  
"But you did it so nothing would happen to me Will, that has to count for something with the townspeople."  
  
"It doesn't excuse what I did, Elizabeth," he said calmly, "I broke the law, fair and square. I broke a wanted man out of prison, commandeered a ship from the Royal Navy, and gathered a pirate crew in Tortuga. Then when we got back to port I aided in the escape of the /same/ wanted man right on his execution date. The only thing I haven't done yet is pillage! And on top of it all, I've gotten away with it. To the people of Port Royal I am," he looked confused, as if remembering something someone had once said to him, " . . . a pirate." He finished, and looked down. "Or well on my way to becoming one."  
  
Elizabeth peered up at him. "Father granted you clemency, twice."   
  
"Oh blast the clemency, it's not as if it really means anything to them," he yelled. He gasped and looked away, ashamed of himself. "I . . . apologize. I did not mean what I said."  
  
'Yes, yes you did, but you are ashamed to tell me so.' Elizabeth thought to herself. The silence stretched uncomfortably. Elizabeth studied his profile, she'd become very good at it growing up. She had not been able to speak with or see young Will Turner that often, but when she had, he had always remained silent, never saying a word. She had gotten in the habit of studying his face on these occasions, to see what he might be feeling or thinking about what the "grown-ups" were talking about. It had become more a habit then anything else, useful as it was. He was distracted again, seeming to stare off at some point beyond her. She pushed down her annoyance, as she had been doing for weeks. "Do you think you are a pirate Will Turner?" she asked coolly.  
  
Will looked at her, surprised, "No, of course not!"  
  
"Then why do you worry some much about it? I'm sure that the townspeople will calm down soon. If you don't do anything wrong, they may forget about the whole thing."  
  
Will started to pace, getting to one side of the carpet then turning abruptly and walking back. There was another long silence, something Elizabeth was starting to get exasperated with. Will stopped suddenly and looked at her; Elizabeth raised her eyebrows in silent inquiry.   
  
Will breathed deep. "I wish I could say that what the townspeople think of me did not bother me, but it does. I've never lived up to anyone's expectations, except for Mr. Brown's, and I exceeded those. Truth be told, all he expected me to know how to hit the metal with a hammer and hope for the best. But this pirate thing, it makes daily life . . . difficult." Will came to sit in the chair beside her, "The talk and comments follow me wherever I go, it affects any business I do, it affects where I may eat - walking down the street has become a trial, all the townspeople are the jury, and they would all be glad to see me hang." He looked at her hand a moment before he took it gently, "It's hard Elizabeth, to deal with it all without being able to say anything in my own defense."  
  
Elizabeth could not immediately reply. She gazed down at her hand clasped in his and she, for the first time, felt unsure about her relationship with Will. The pain of that was hard to bear.  
  
"What will you do now? Where will you go?" Elizabeth asked quietly when she could think of nothing else.  
  
Will breathed out a gust that he had apparently been holding. "I shall have to look for another job. I'll take a room at a tavern and find work doing labor somewhere. Help is always needed at the docks, so I'll start there."  
  
Elizabeth saw a brief flash of pain cross Will's serious face. Working at the docks was /not/ something that Will wanted, or should be doing. It was for people who had nowhere else to turn and needed something to let them see their next meal. "Will, you could," she stopped and bit her lip, knowing how Will was likely going to take the next comment, "stay here, at the manor." Will opened his mouth and she continued before he had the chance to protest. "Think about it Will, what tavern would take you in? The town does not trust you, as ridiculous as that is - who would rent to you?"  
  
Will closed his eyes, "I will not live off your charity."  
  
'That hurt.' "It isn't charity Will," she said earnestly, "It will be fine. You can live here with father and myself, and you can get that job if you truly want to." She smiled, "We will be getting married soon, you'll have to start living here sometime, Will."  
  
"Live here?" Will said, finally opening her eyes, a look of shock and bewilderment open in his features.  
  
"Where else did you think we would live, Will? You'll be a nobleman! Perhaps in a few years we might be able to build our own house, but for now we shall live in my father's mansion," she gave a small amused laugh and his continued look of shock, "We couldn't have lived in the blacksmith's shop, Will."  
  
Will looked around, eyes darting around at the fine furniture and expensive ornaments placed all around the room. Many had been taken during the raid, but there were still a good many left in the house. Elizabeth sensed his discomfort.   
  
"I did not say that to be cruel, Will, you know that," she said slowly, squeezing his hand.  
  
"What?" Will looked up from unconsciously trying to brush down his own jerkin, "Wha . . . oh yes. Yes, of course I know Elizabeth. I suppose that it will take some getting used to," Will said hopefully.  
  
She smiled kindly at him and inwardly sighed as Will relaxed without seeming to realize that he had even tensed in the first place. She stood and took a few steps to his chair and leaned down so that they were face to face. "I suppose so. I am positive that we shall make the best we can of this situation."  
  
Will's face flushed slightly as she leaned down and gave him a chaste kiss on him lips. It would have been adorable if it weren't for the look of resigned defeat that still lingered in his eyes.  
  
"I shall see Eliza about preparing a room for you and I shall speak with father tonight. You might what to clean yourself up before then though," she said as she made her way to the sitting room door. "Detestable as they are, those chairs are quite expensive."  
  
Will stood up quickly and looked at the chair, which now had a few smudges of dirt on it. "That might be wise, I seem to be getting dirt all over everything." He made a few more swipes at his Jerkin to no avail; the dirt had almost become a main feature in the clothes. The looked at each other and laughed. "Perhaps some new clothes are also in order," she grinned, immensely glad that the atmosphere had lightened.   
  
"Are they really that bad?" Will asked following her out through the double doors.  
  
"Yes, they are quite terrible. So horrible in fact that I have half a mind to set you on every single piece of furniture I despise in the house."  
  
"The townspeople are mistaken, then. Of the two of us, you are more a pirate then I could ever be!" Will mocked.  
  
Elizabeth pretended to be hurt, "Will, what a thing to say to a lady!"  
  
"Then I shall be careful to never say it to one," he quipped quickly, picking up his pace to avoid Elizabeth's wrath.  
  
She grinned happily and chased him across the parlor, exchanging half-hearted insults, much like they had done in the first few days of living in Port Royal, when Will was all she had ever known. 'Besides,' she thought smugly, 'the point isn't which one of us is more pirate, I'm just better at hiding it!'  
  
Neither heard Mr. Jenkins return from his stroll to the fort and neither even saw him as he sat himself in the sitting room, studying the dirt and scuff marks that Will had left behind, listening to the couple laugh and play like small children. Indeed it wasn't until he had frightened a passing maid into near hysterics with a cough that anyone had known that he was back at all, and had been for some time. 


End file.
